


Like You Were My Own Blood

by FishingforCrows



Series: Our New Life on Our Side [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bullying, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, fem Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-08 09:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishingforCrows/pseuds/FishingforCrows
Summary: Warlock writes to Nanny Ashtoreth explaining that ever since he moved back to America, he has been bullied at school and hasn't been able to make any friends. She decides perhaps it's time she step back into her old job. After all, she raised him to eliminate all man kind, not to let himself be pushed around by bullies.





	1. A Letter of Lament

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a sequel to "Even the Seasons Change"
> 
> here's a link to it if you would like to give that a read: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411150/chapters/46194418

_Dear Nanny Ashtoreth,_

_I need your help._

_I know you had already retired by then so you don’t know, but my family moved back to the United States pretty shortly after my eleventh birthday. It’s been two whole years in this place and I haven’t made any friends._

_When I first came to my new school, I remembered Brother Francis’s advice on how to make friends: “If you are honest, kind, and show people your true self, then you will always find yourself amongst friends”. But that turned out to be bullshit. I acted like my “true self” but people made fun of me for having a weird name and stupid hair and because I say summer holidays instead of summer vacation._

_So, then I thought about what you would tell me to do. I tried to bribe people into being my friends, but at the school I go to everyone’s parents are politicians or celebrities, so I don’t have much leverage. Then I tried threatening them into being my friends but… I haven’t hit my growth spurt yet so it didn’t work out that well._

_You always told me people should worship me and tremble at my feet in fear, but it’s hard to get them to do that when you’re only five feet tall._

_No one here likes me, and I don’t know why._

_And to make it all worse I recently humiliated myself in front of my entire homeroom class. I fell asleep at my desk and when my teacher called out my name to wake me up I sat up and said “I’m coming Nanny!” because I thought you were yelling at me to get out of bed for school. Now all the other kids have started calling me “nanny boy”._

_Which I think will be very ironic and funny after you come to America and help me burn down my school for revenge._

_Anyway, see you soon, I miss you very much, and please don’t forget to buy lighter fluid on your way to my house._

_Sincerely,_

_Warlock_

A deep, concerned frown crept across Crowley’s face like a vine invading a garden with each and every sentence he read. In the two years since he had last seen Warlock in person, so much had happened that he hadn’t spared many thoughts for the boy he once presumed to be the antichrist and had essentially raised. Preventing the apocalypse, truly beginning a relationship after six thousand years, and mentoring the _actual_ antichrist proved to be very distracting tasks. But when he read those words and pictured Warlock sadly slouching through the halls of his school, followed by snot-nosed, jeering children, it provoked something inside him. Something deep-seeded and fiery. Something, downright _maternal._

He suddenly understood why mother bears were the most dangerous, and at the same time began to rethink his policy on killing children. Which of course resulted in him deciding, no, it still wasn’t right to murder kids even if they tormented a boy you had rocked to sleep every night until he was nine. He gingerly folded the letter and set it on his desk, his eyes lingering on it disdainfully.

He had always believed that humans had the potential to be crueler than demons could even dream of being. Their capacity for creativity, which he normally found admirable, meant they were very good of thinking up a plethora of ways to make each other absolutely miserable. And throughout his time on earth he had discovered that the unique combination of disillusionment and puberty found only in preteens made them especially adept at finding new ways to ruin each other’s lives. The demon may have never actually aged himself, but he understood that the time between age eleven and thirteen were often some of the most unbearable years of human existence.

_Poor Warlock_ , he thought to himself as he pondered what to do, having to thoroughly rule out the idea of murder a second time despite how easy it would be. At least the boy was in a private school. Though he certainly didn’t have a hand in it, he knew for a fact the American public-school system had become heavily influenced by demonic forces over the years.

He stood up, walking purposefully from his office to his bedroom. He threw open the door to his walk-in closet and began filing through the many neatly pressed items of clothing hanging there, looking for a very specific outfit.

He couldn’t just sit by idly and let Warlock suffer like that. Not after all those afternoons spent negotiating nap times and teaching him how to use his sling shot to break windows. Or all those nights spent with him perched on Crowley’s knee, reading aloud from the Children’s Illustrated Necronomicon. Or the many times he’d rubbed his round little tummy when he wasn’t feeling well and reminding him if he needed to be sick, aim for the carpet. No, he’d put in too much time and effort, and though he wouldn’t say it out loud - _care_ , into raising that boy to be a confident, powerful destroyer of worlds to let his self-esteem be destroyed by some childish bullies.

A sharp smile jerked the corners of his mouth up as his hands finally landed on the familiar skirt and blouse set he was looking for.

Something would have to be done.

Luckily, he knew just the lady the for the job.


	2. Heaven Help Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanny Ashtoreth enlists the help of her favorite Angel before departing to the United States.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's POV

“Good afternoon!” Aziraphale chirped brightly as he heard the bell of the bookshop door ring. “Is-” Before he could get another word out he was being grabbed by the arm and dragged towards the back of the shop. He yelped in surprise and hastily tried to regain his bearings, craning his neck to see exactly who was towing him away. At first, he didn’t quite recognize her, it had been a while since Crowley had dressed like that, after all. But once he realized his kidnapper was actually his beloved demon, dressed in an outfit he’d been certain he would never see again, he was even more shocked.

“Come along, angel,” Her sensible heels clicked across the hardwood floor and then began stomping up the stairs to his flat resolutely; a sound that gave him chilling flashbacks to the time Warlock had called her a rather nasty name and then ran up to his bedroom to hide.

“What? Excuse-ah! Excuse me, Crowley, but what-oh dear! On earth are you doing?!” The angel was struggling to get his feet underneath him so that he could walk instead of just being dragged along like a rag doll. Though, a part of him didn’t dislike the idea of Crowley dragging him up to his flat in heels and a skirt, it seemed a really improper thing to do during business hours.

“You have to pack your bags,” She answered in a commanding voice that made it clear that this was not a question, or even a statement, but an order. As much as Nanny Ashtoreth was just pseudonym for Crowley, she also seemed to become a character in her own right over the years. So that whenever Crowley was playing her, she became very confident and domineering in a way that had always made the angel feel deeply conflicting things. He was aware he was not alone in those feelings though, for some reason, she made most men feel that way.

“Where are we going? _Wooah!_ ” She led him into the bedroom, practically flung him on to the bed, then turned and threw his closet door open. She shook her head and tutted disapprovingly, presumably at how just how empty of clothes it actually was. It seemed silly to him to purchase other clothes when the ones he always wore suited him so nicely, and when he could just miracle himself an appropriate outfit for any situation.

“To America,” She told him as though it were obvious, snapping her fingers and filling the closet with double the options that had been there before. She tossed an outfit at him, the shirt covering his face. He pulled it off and looked at it. It was a simple white shirt. The other items which had landed in his lap included some sturdy canvas trousers, a blue tie, and a brown hat that resembled a flower pot. It took him a minute, but he eventually recognized the ensemble. Minus the large smock he had always put on top of it, this was what he wore when he was pretending to be Brother Francis, the Dowling’s Gardener.

“…Something to do with… Warlock?” Aziraphale asked slowly, looking up at Crowley as the pieces slotted together in his brain.

“No, I just want to do some sightseeing in these very specific outfits,” She replied sarcastically, her normal voice slipping through her Nanny persona. “Yes, of course it’s to see Warlock,”

“But why?” Aziraphale asked in confusion. She huffed and motioned that he should be getting dressed while she spoke. He obediently began to change his clothes and she reached inside her jacket and whipped out a piece of folded, lined paper.

“He wrote me this letter,” She explained, holding it between two of her gloved fingers. “Asking for my help,” After Aziraphale was done changing she flicked it over to him. He caught it clumsily and unfolded it, his eyes scanning the page as he read it quickly.

“Glad to hear he at least tried my advice,” He muttered as he read it, frowning. His heart went out to the poor child. He was reminded of the many lazy afternoons they had spent under the shade of a large oak tree, sharing biscuits from an old tin lunchbox and chatting. He remembered Warlock as a precocious, outspoken, if a little crude, young man and it astounded him slightly that he hadn’t managed to make any friends. Surely, someone appreciated his excellent conversational skills, and he thought the kind of rude jokes Warlock liked to make were typical of a boy his age; so, why couldn’t he find anyone to bond with?

As much of a soft spot as he had for the boy in his heart, he wasn’t surprised that he had written to Crowley. The two of them seemed to have bonded more than he did, which he supposed made sense. After all, as his nanny, she spent more time actively taking care of him.

He’d always regretted choosing to be the gardener, thinking the nanny job made it easier to influence Warlock towards evil. It of course, hadn’t mattered since Warlock wasn’t actually the antichrist. And perhaps he had more heavenly influence than he thought, considering Warlock had turned to his advice before hers. He would be lying if he said that didn’t spark the tiniest bit of pride in him.

He looked up at Crowley, about to protest that the two of them going to America and meddling in the situation was probably a bad idea. However, then a memory flashed in his mind of the day the two of them “retired”, the way Crowley had been so quiet all morning before they made their resignations and how he had sworn he heard her sniffle as they walked away from the house. He knew if he refused to go, Crowley would just end up going anyway. He shuddered to think what havoc the demon might wreak if she didn’t have anyone reminding her of the consequences. Furthermore, he did feel awfully bad for the boy. He supposed that he had agreed to be Warlock’s godfather, and whether that had been under the assumption he was the spawn of Satan or not, that responsibility still stood.

“America it is then,” He said with a shrug of his shoulders, watching a pleased smile appear on Crowley’s lips.


	3. Ashtoreth in America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale arrive in America and are greeted by an extremely excited Warlock, ready for Nanny to help him wreak some havoc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's POV

Crowley checked the return address on the envelope from Warlock as the cab pulled up in front of the lavish colonial style mansion in the suburb outside of D.C., on the Virginian side. “This is the place,” She said as she got out, leaving Aziraphale to pay the fare. She strode up to the gate where a young military type was posted as a guard. She recognized him, he’d been working for the Dowling’s when they were in England as well. _Guess he didn’t get that promotion he wanted_ , she thought to herself.

“Identification please,” He barked out like a trained dog. She cocked her head to the side and gave him a look that said to her he was no more frightening than a mangy, stray puppy. 

“A few years go by and you’ve already forgotten me, Hanson?” She said in a sharp and scolding tone. “Naughty boy,”

The guard flushed a bright red, his buzz cut showing that it reached all the way to the top of his head. “B-but Ms. Ashtoreth, Ma’am,” He sweated nervously. “Seeing as you don’t work for the Dowling’s anymore, I can’t allow you on the property... M-ma’am,” He was sweating visibly now. Crowley leaned through the window of the guard station, imposing on his space. For anyone else, attempting to physically intimidate a man with a gun like that would have probably been unthinkable, but she wasn’t scared in the slightest.

“Now that simply won’t do,” She clicked her tongue menacingly. “Our presence was requested, open the gate,” She demanded.

“The Dowling’s didn’t say anything about it to me...”

She drew her shoulders up like a viper poising to strike, ready to let this idiot know what happens to silly little boys who don’t know how to do their sodding job, but she felt a firm hand on her shoulder and was abruptly pulled away before she could. Aziraphale had stepped between them.

“Perhaps, sir,” He said with a friendly and concerned smile that showed off his absolutely massive false-teeth. “You could uh, call Mrs. Dowling and she could clear up this here miscommunication,” He provided helpfully.

The guard started to protest feebly but Crowley was glaring daggers at him over the angel’s shoulder so he did start to reach for his cell phone. It was pointless, though, as a moment later they heard someone cry out from across the yard.

“NANNY!” All three of their heads whipped around to see a blur of a young boy rushing towards the gate. Crowley smiled, genuine but with a hint of smugness as Warlock slammed the button to open the gate in spite of the guard. She crouched slightly, opening her arms and he rushed into them, hugging her tightly.

“You came!” He cheered triumphantly.

“Right away, my boy,” She cooed, giving him a gentle squeeze. He then seemed to notice Aziraphale standing behind her and gave him an extremely confused look.

“Brother Francis? What are you doing here?” He asked bluntly.

“Now Master Warlock,” Aziraphale said reproachfully “Where are your manners? Is that anyway to greet an old friend?” He opened his arms for a hug too, which Warlock readily gave him, but pulled away a moment later, still looking baffled.

“But I mean, I only wrote to Nanny, how did you even know she was coming?” He looked back and forth between the two of them.

_Shit_ , Crowley swore internally. In her head it had made perfect sense to bring the angel along to assist her, or at the very least remind her of her values if her mind drifted to murder again. But she now realized that while it made perfect sense for Crowley to bring Aziraphale, there wasn’t any reason at all for Nanny Ashtoreth to bring a gardener. She sputtered, stumbling over the beginnings of words as she tried to think up a response. “We...”

“We’re married!” Aziraphale stepped in quickly. He suddenly moved forward and put an arm around her waist, pulling her to his side as if to better ‘sell’ the idea. She looked at him with raised eyebrows. That certainly was a clever solution. It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all. “We got married after we stopped working for your parents. So really, when you sent the letter to her, it arrived at our shared home,”

She took off one of her gloves and held up her left hand that now had a black, metal band around the ring finger. A gold band had likewise appeared on Aziraphale’s hand the moment he’d spoken the word ‘married’. _Guess that’s what we’re going with_ , she thought as she gave her most convincing smile.

To Crowley’s surprise, Warlock took this information in stride. “Oh yeah, that makes sense,” He said with a nod. “I always knew she had a crush on you,”

“What?!” Crowley squawked in shock, losing her façade of the dignified and proper Nanny for a moment. A flash of fiery red rose on her cheeks. Aziraphale snorted, though he covered his mouth to try and hide it. She elbowed him sharply in the ribs making him grunt.

“I’d see you look out the window at him working in the garden and just kind of stare with your head tilted funny sometimes,” Warlock explained. “And you were always giving him gardening tips,”

“I’ll have you know, he pursued me entirely!” She fumed indignantly, knowing that was almost a complete lie. She could feel Aziraphale’s smug smile without even having to look at him and it positively enraged her. “Well?! Are you going to take us inside or are we all just going to stand here?!” She snapped sternly, trying to regain the composure of her character.

Warlock led them into the garden and began chatting their ear off about all the things that had happened since he had seen them last. “So, Fortnite is this game online where you can build forts and try and kill other players, it’s a giant battle royal. And when you kill someone you get to taunt them which I think is really funny,” He chattered as they walked up the driveway. Aziraphale looked utterly lost but Crowley chuckled. She was familiar with the game, in fact she was the one who suggested to the developers that they put those silly little dances in there, knowing thousands of children use them to confuse and annoy the shit out of their parents in equal measure for months.

“So, uh, Nanny,” He turned to her when they entered the house, his eyes flicking to Aziraphale cautiously. “Did you bring the um… school supplies I asked you for?” He asked meaningfully, giving her a conspiratorial but very obvious wink.

“No child,” She sighed as she took a seat on the living room couch. “While I admire your ambition, I don’t think arson is quite the solution to this situation,” Aziraphale blustered at this and tried to object to her even entertaining the idea but they both ignored him. She patted the cushion next to her and Warlock flopped down.

“But why not?” He whined.

“Well if we burned down this school,” She explained calmly, as if she was discussing the weather and not a felony. “You’d simply have to go to another one, and unfortunately, I can assure you that the vast majority of children around this age are cruel. Especially to those who they can sense are unequivocally better than them,” Warlock took the compliment with a nod but still looked frustrated. “A toxic cocktail of childish attitude mixed with newly acquired teenage hormones. So, if we start burning down schools now we might as well just burn them all,”

“Well that doesn’t sound too bad,” Warlock grumbled. 

“That’s my boy,” She laughed and patted his head. “But really I think a better idea would be to march into your school tomorrow and strike so much fear within them that they don’t dare to cross you again,” She told him cheerfully.

“I told you, no one’s afraid of me!” He lamented throwing up his hands as if in surrender.

“Maybe not yet,” Her smile was as sickly sweet as a spoon full of cough syrup. “But they will be,”

“Excuse me?” The three in the living room looked up to see a very puzzled looking Mrs. Dowling standing in the entry way. “What are you two doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized that in the last pic (Even the Seasons Change) I said it was July, and like almost two weeks passed, meaning that if they left for America right away most schools wouldn't be in or would have just started. And Warlock was already having problems. So I decided to go back and change the last fic to happen in August instead to make a little more sense. I know probably no one cares about the continuity error??? But it was bothering ME. Anyway, I decided to rant about this super minor detail that I bet no one even noticed because I am ridiculous.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	4. Dinner with the Dowlings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley navigate dinner with their hosts, determining just how much Warlock's parents know about his school situation. Later on that night, Aziraphale encounters Warlock and they have a heartfelt talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's POV
> 
> I cried writing this chapter y'all

“So, explain to me why you’re in the states again?” Mrs. Dowling asked as she filled Aziraphale’s wine glass. The angel, the demon, and all three of the Dowlings were currently seated around their dinner table.

“To visit my poor, ailin’ sister,” The angel replied, putting a hand over his heart and looking down solemnly.

“Right, right,” She replied, nodding her head as if that sounded right to her. She moved to fill Crowley’s glass next, which she graciously accepted.

“I thought you said it was _your_ sister Nanny?” Warlock piped up in confusion. Aziraphale froze nervously, they had made up an excuse so quickly when Mrs. Dowling discovered them that he had gotten a bit confused on the details.

“I meant my sister _in law_ , of course,” Crowley lied easily and Aziraphale sighed in relief. Having someone has adept at lying as a demon on your side could come in very handy sometimes.

“Congratulations by the way,” Mr. Dowling replied jovially, lifting his glass up in cheers to the both of them. They replied in kind, sharing a knowing look with each other.

“And what brought you to our house?” Mrs. Dowling chimed in, apparently not fully satisfied with the story she’d been told once she had time to think about it. “I mean, not that I’m not glad to see you both, I’m just wondering how you got our address,”

“Young Warlock wrote me,” Crowley explained in return. She looked at Mrs. Dowling with reproach, obviously judging her for not already knowing about this, making the lady of the house shift uncomfortably. “He asked if we’d drop by for a visit. I didn’t plan to stay for long but you so kindly invited us to stay for dinner,”

“You did?” Mrs. Dowling turned to Warlock quizzically, possibly to escape the searing gaze of the judgmental demon. Warlock glowered down at his food, pushing it around his plate without taking a bite. He seemed reluctant to answer his mother.

“He told me he was having trouble in school,” Crowley added. Even with her dark glasses, Aziraphale knew she was narrowing her eyes at the Dowlings, watching for their reaction intently. This was a test; one the humans in front of them had absolutely no hope of passing. Either they already knew Warlock was being bullied, and were not doing enough about it, or they were too oblivious to notice how miserable their child was.

“Oh that?” Mr. Dowling chortled dismissively. “You know how kids are Mrs. Ashtoreth! Just a little bit of hazing, you know, boys being boys,” He reached over and clapped Warlock on the shoulder, a gesture the boy did not appear to appreciate. “I say, it builds character,” He added with a broad, politician’s grin. Then he took a bite of his roast chicken, and abruptly started to choke.

Aziraphale’s head whipped in Crowley’s direction. She was staring down the American man across from her with the steadfast determination of a carnivore watching its prey. The angel hurriedly waved his hand under the table, miraculously clearing Mr. Dowling’s windpipe right as Mrs. Dowling had begun slapping him on the back. He then reached over and put a hand on the serpent’s leg, trying to wordlessly remind her that they weren’t here to assassinate the ambassador.

Mr. Dowling drank some water and apologized for the fuss he’d caused. “Must’ve gone down the wrong pipe,” he coughed hoarsely, pounding his fist on his chest with a wince. Crowley was still watching him disdain written across her face.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale said, trying to get her attention without sounding too urgent. “You seem tense. Probably from all that flyin’. Why don’t you have some wine?” He hinted, pushing the glass towards her. What he really wanted to say was ‘ _if you actually end up killing someone I swear on the rarest bible I own I will give you the silent treatment for a year’_ , but that would require a lot of explaining to the Dowlings.

“Hmm, perhaps you’re right,” She replied through gritted teeth. She brought the wineglass to her lips and Aziraphale thought he had never seen someone drink something so resentfully.

In spite of that, she apparently took his advice to heart since she took a drink every time Mr. Dowling spoke for the rest of dinner. By the end she was telling a wonderfully entertaining story about their honeymoon in Italy, which had never happened, in perhaps a bit louder voice than was necessary.

Thankfully, upon hearing how far away Brother Francis’s “sister” lived, Mrs. Dowling insisted it was late and invited them to stay the night. Aziraphale escorted Crowley to the guest room with her practically dangling off his shoulder. She wasn’t quite as steady in those heels in this state. Additionally, she didn’t seem to remember that she had the ability to sober up if she so chose, and with how she had acted before the wine, the angel wasn’t eager to remind her. Instead he let her collapse on to the bed, took off her shoes for her, then helped her out of her clothes until she was just in her undergarments. He took the glasses from her face, set them on the nightstand, and tucked her into bed, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before flicking out the light.

Aziraphale didn’t sleep very often. Usually he only fell asleep when Crowley wanted to cuddle up to him. After all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours his mind was far too restless to even attempt it. So instead he made his way back to the living room. He had, of course, brought a book with him. Which he settled into an armchair with, snapping his fingers to bring forth a cozy, crackling fire in the fireplace.

Sometime, late into the night, he heard a creaking noise from the stairs, and looked up to see a small figure creeping through the dark. “Warlock?” Aziraphale asked out loud, taking an educated guess at who it might be. The figure shuffled guiltily into the light, confirming his identity. “What are you doing up in the wee hours of the morning? It’s a school night,” He asked, concerned.

Warlock’s expression darkened at the word ‘school’. He didn’t seem to want to answer until the gardener finally caught his eye and gave him an earnest look of worry. “I can’t sleep…” He admitted begrudgingly.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

Warlock gave a heavy sigh as he lowered himself to sit in front of the fire. He held his knees close to his chest and rested his head on them. There looked to be far too much fatigue on his face for someone so young, dark circles already beginning to form under his eyes for want of rest. “I keep thinking about all the stupid stuff I have said and done… all the stupid stuff I might say or do tomorrow. The stuff that makes the other kids make fun of me,”

“Nothing you do makes those kids make fun of you,” Aziraphale replied firmly, feeling a swell of sympathy for the boy. “It’s their own choice to do those things, nothing you do makes them obligated to pick on you,” Warlock rolled his eyes in response, blowing air out of his nose in a disbelieving little parody of a laugh.

“I’m serious, Warlock,” Aziraphale insisted, leaning forward towards the boy to emphasize his sincerity. “They don’t bully you because of anything you think you’re doing. All those kids at school are dealing with their own problems. They probably are worrying about all the same things you are. The only difference is, they’re taking it out on other people and you’re taking it out on yourself. Which means you’re getting a double dose, and that hardly seems fair does it?”

Warlock’s face twisted, he looked deep in thought, processing this new information. Slowly, decisively he nodded in agreement that it wasn’t fair.

“And I’m not saying that what they’re doing isn’t wrong, but you can’t control other people’s actions or what they think of you. You can only control yourself,” The angel continued in a gentler voice. He reached out and set his hand softly on the boys back. Warlock looked as if he might cry, but it was hard to tell if it was from the physical exhaustion or the emotional. “If you stop focusing on the things you don’t like about yourself, and start nurturing the things you do, you’ll be a much happier person. And eventually, I promise you, other people will start to see those things too,”

“I don’t have anything good to nurture, Brother Francis,” Warlock said quietly and the angel’s heart shattered for him.

“Now that’s just not true,” Aziraphale told him, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. “You are just as much the outspoken, intelligent young boy you were the day I retired. I mean, the fact you even reached out for help, well I think that shows how much you speak up, and that deep down, and you know you don’t deserve all this,” A couple stray tears did start to roll down Warlock’s face, but he wiped them away with his shirt. Then he got up and gave Aziraphale a tight hug. He didn’t need to speak; the angel could feel his gratitude in the gesture.

“Be kinder to yourself, Warlock, because if you’re constantly trying to make yourself likeable to other people without thinking about what you like about yourself, well, you’ll never know any peace,”


	5. Serpent in the Schoolyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes Warlock to School to confront his principal and teach him how to handle his bullies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's POV
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so much longer than all the others but I just had a lot I wanted to fit in!

With a loud swooshing sound Crowley opened the heavy black-out curtains of Warlock’s bedroom, letting in the morning light. This was one of the few times she was truly grateful for her dark glasses, as her head still swum a bit from the wine last night, and the light made it sting. This was what happened when she forgot to sober up, she reminded herself with an internal sigh. She cursed at Aziraphale internally for encouraging her to drink as much as she did. None the less, she soldiered on. There was work to be done.

“Time to get up dear,” She spoke to the lump of black duvet that was dotted with little white skulls for a pattern. It squirmed and let out a tired groan.

“Come on,” She chirped, abruptly yanking the duvet off to reveal the very grumpy teenager beneath. “We’ve got to get an early start,”

“Why?” Warlock whined, his voice rasping with sleep.

“Because,” She replied patiently, handing him his uniform which she’d retrieved from the dresser. “We’ve got a meeting with the principal,”

Once Warlock was dressed, brushed, and fed for school, the two of them got into one of the Dowling’s several cars. Crowley of course could have asked for the key to borrow it, but she didn’t need it, so she didn’t ask. She began driving to the school, having looked up the address on the internet. Rather than looking at the road, her eyes were fixated on the rearview mirror. Or more accurately, the image of Warlock nervously chewing on his thumbnail in the rearview mirror.

“Stop biting your nails,” She scolded him, though there was no real venom in her words. This apparently opened a flood gate of nerves in the boy as he suddenly snapped and began speaking frantically.

“You keep saying that all I have to do is scare them but I don’t know how to do that! I’m not scary, Nanny! I’ve tried to threaten them before and they laughed in my face! What’s to keep them from doing the same this time?” He was waving his hands frantically as he spoke, working himself up into a frenzy.

“You have to have confidence,” She tried to keep her tone even and soothing, Warlock interrupted her before she could elaborate.

“Confidence in what? I have nothing to back it up,”

“Doesn’t matter,” She told him simply. She turned in her seat to look at him, keeping one hand on the wheel, though it was really only for appearances sake. Warlock didn’t seem to care though, he was familiar with her style of driving. “All you have to do is pretend,” He stared at her with the blank expression of someone who has just been given directions in a language they do not speak. “People fear confidence. Everyone has this idea in their head that they don’t know what they’re doing, and they’re right. No one really knows anything, every one doubts themselves. But if you can just act like you know what you’re doing, it scares people. They’re going to think you know something they don’t and won’t want to mess with you. Bullies like to pick on people they think they can get a rise out of. Act like you’re better than that, smarter than that, don’t let them think they can get to you,”

Crowley was very familiar with the concept of _fake it ‘til you make it_. She’d spent a large part of her career in Hell bluffing her way through meetings and reports, using her suave façade to make those who sought to undermine her think she was always one step ahead of them. That was how you had to be down there. Show demons even the smallest shred of self-doubt, the tiniest hint of a weakness, and they jumped on you like a pack of wild dogs on a doe; ready to rip you to shreds, all of them foaming at the mouth to take your place.

“I… I just don’t know how to be confident…” Warlock said with a heavy sigh, raking his hand through the fine strands of dark hair that fell in his face.

“Watch me when I speak to your principal,” She told him firmly, turning back to the road and gripping the wheel tightly in both fists. “I’ll show you how it’s done,”

Soon they were marching through the near-empty halls of the school building, none of the children having arrived yet. When they reached the doors of the principal’s office Crowley put her hand on Warlock’s shoulders and pulled his poster up straight, making him stand up as tall as he could, she did the same for herself. Then she pushed through the door with an air reminiscent of someone who was walking into a boxing ring rather than a school administrator’s office. The secretary tried to ask her if she had an appointment, but she stormed right past her, ignoring her protests. She marched directly up to the principal’s desk and slammed her handbag down on to it, wordlessly commanding the attention of the bearded, short, balding man in front of her.

He looked up, blustering with confusion and outrage, but she could see in his eyes she’d already begun to intimidate him. “Miss, you need an-”

“No,” She snapped, cutting him off. “I don’t need an appointment. I _need_ an explanation,” She said, making it very clear with her words that this conversation would not be a debate, it would be a trial. In which she was judge, jury, and executioner. “Your job, as the principal, is to make sure this school is a safe and productive learning environment for all its students, correct?”

“Yes-”

“Then tell me,” She placed her hands on the desk and leaned in to his space, staring through her glasses directly into his eyes, looking into him more than at him. “Why you’ve allowed my Warlock to be tormented to the point where he feels neither safe nor like he’s learning productively?” Her voice was colder than December wind, and just as biting.

“Well when it comes to verbal confrontations, unless the student is directly threatened, it is our policy to allow students to work them out on their own, so they can develop vital conflict resolution skills,” He began trying to speak to her in that stuffy, official tone that people recite policy in, in the hopes of shutting down conversations. “After all, they’ve never put hands on him-”

“That’s not true!” Warlock chimed in, looking affronted. “Steve yanked off my backpack while I was walking to the bus and dumped the whole thing out!”

Crowley felt anger start to bubble up in the pit of her stomach at this new information but she couldn’t break her cool resolve right now or it would undermine her control of the situation. She simply raised her eyebrows expectantly at him.

Sweat beaded on his large forehead. “That was your backpack and it was after school hours, you weren’t physically hurt. We can’t control-”

She saw an opening and struck at it. “So, you’re admitting you’ve lost control of your students?”

“N-no-”

“The same way you’ve lost control of your hairline?” She took a deep inhale. “Or your smoking habit?” Then she gestured at the desk, suddenly a rather long line of ants hand begun marching across it. That was her touch, a little bit of payback for trying to belittle Warlock being grabbed. “Or the cleanliness of your office?”

“Oh!” He looked disgusted and began smacking at them, but they just started to crawl right on to him, causing him to jolt and try to shake them off. Crowley slammed her hand down on the desk with a loud smack and suddenly lunged forward until her face was just inches from his, forcing him to look at her again.

“Is there anything you have control over, you pathetic little disgrace of a man?” She hissed at him, but didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Listen to me, you are going to watch over my boy and you are going to keep him safe or so help me I will show you just how little control over your own miserable excuse for a life you really have. Do you understand?” She spat out the last three words with so much vitriol it was tangible.

The principal, squirming as literal insects crawled in greater and greater numbers over his skin, nodded frantically, visibly desperate to remove this vile woman from his office. Deep in his eyes, though, she could see that he was taking her seriously, too scared not to. She smiled viciously, triumphantly, then made an about-face turn and walked out with her head held high.

Warlock followed suit, a look of awe on his face. Once they were out of the office she turned to him, her smile melted from cold and victorious to warm and encouraging. “Did you see that? That’s confidence,” She told him, and he grinned up at her. The muffled shouts of the principal, crying out something about a ‘swarm’, could be heard on the other side of the door, but neither of them paid it any mind.

“That was amazing Nanny! I thought he was going to piss himself!” He laughed, she chuckled slightly too.

“So, here’s what I want you to take away from that,” She began, and he nodded eagerly as though he had mentally whipped out a note pad. “Use your posture, stand up straight and control the space with your body, get close when you want to make a point, apply pressure by monopolizing their space,”

“Like when you leaned in really close at the end?” He asked excitedly.

“Yes, very good,” She replied with a nod. “Always speak as though you are in control. Demand, don’t ask. Whatever you say, pretend you know for a fact it’s right, even if you don’t. And lastly,” She crouched slightly to look him in the eye. “No matter what they say, act like you saw it coming. Act like you knew exactly what was going to happen, like you’re one step ahead of them. I guarantee you, you’ll have them shaking in their boots,” She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. He smiled brightly back at her, his eyes alight with newfound determination.

They walked out of the building together, there was still a decent amount of time before school started, but children had begun to gather by the playground to play and chat before the bell rung. They passed a group of boys and heard snickering, followed by one of them calling out “Nanny boy!”. Crowley looked at Warlock, he’d flinched slightly but he was now taking a deep breath and drawing himself up. She smiled as he squared his shoulders and turned around to face them.

“Steve!” Warlock called out, his voice unwavering. There wasn’t even anger in his tone, just resolve. The group of boys remained clustered together, giggling. “Come on out, I know it was you,” He stood there waiting patiently, hands in his pockets, he even managed a calm smile. The boys seemed put off by this unusual behavior, which Crowley expected was exactly the reaction Warlock was going for. She was impressed, this was a bold first move. A tall boy with spikey blond hair and his uniform sleeves shoved up his arms stepped forward.

“What do you want?” The boy asked with a smug look on his face. “You tattle to your Nanny so she would come put me in time out?” He asked cruelly, jerking his head at Crowley.

“Tattle on you? For what?” Warlock asked in exaggerated and sarcastic tone of confusion. “Ooooh you mean for calling me ‘Nanny boy’ all the time? Why would I tell on you for that? I just assumed you called me that because you were too stupid to pronounce Warlock,” Steve glowered and his body language looked like he was about to step forward. Crowley tensed, _don’t let him get control_ , she thought. Warlock saw it too and stepped forward instead, getting right up close to the taller boy. He had to look up at him, but he compensated by staring him directly in the eyes. Steve looked startled and unnerved, he’d been about to move but Warlock blocking him caused him to stumble and shift in place. “Two syllables is an awful lot for you, huh?” He said scathingly, narrowing his eyes but keeping them locked on Steve’s. Crowley could see the other boy flinch, she could tell he was trying not to look away.

“No, she’s just dropping me off,” Warlock said with a shrug, back to a more casual voice. “You know, because she loves me,” He added, smirking and cocking his head to the side, still not breaking his impromptu staring contest. “But I understand why you’d be confused, since I don’t think you know what that’s like. Tell me, when’s the last time your mom or dad dropped you off at school?” He asked quizzically. Steve tried to burst out and say something but Warlock just spoke over him, raising his voice but not letting go of his dry, unphased tone. “Or packed your lunch for you? Or came to a single one of your cross country meets?” Crowley knew at this point Warlock had to be guessing at these things but the boy spoke as though he was absolutely certain what he saying was true and Steve clenched his fists in a way that hinted it probably was. She didn’t think it was possible to feel as proud as she did in that very moment.

“No, you don’t know what that kind of love feels like,” Warlock raised himself up on the tips of his toes, getting as close to Steve’s face as possible and lowering his voice as he hissed out his final blow. “No one in your house even loves you enough to teach you not to be a prick,” With that he whipped around and sauntered away, looking completely self-satisfied. Crowley felt like she might tear up; she didn’t think it was possible to feel so much unbridled pride. Steve looked like he might tear up too. His face was red and scrunched up with a sort of stunned rage. The other boys stared on in confusion, trying to process exactly what they had just witnessed.

“Come on Nanny, I’ll walk you back to the car,” Warlock said cheerfully as he walked up to her.

“Thank you dear,” She said sweetly, smiling as she began walking away too.

The group of boys, Steve included, continued to stare at them. She took advantage of this, looking back over her shoulder and pushing her glasses down to show her eyes. Then she contorted her face to exaggerate her serpent features; eyes glowing, scales suddenly appearing, jaw extending and long, forked tongue flicking out between needle-like fangs with a hiss. They all screamed in terror and ran away. She couldn’t help but snicker.

She considered that, perhaps, that was overkill since Warlock had already handled the situation so expertly himself. Then she decided, no, it wasn’t. It was just a little bit of revenge for the pain they had already caused him. The handful of writhing black snakes that would fall out of their lockers when they opened them, on the other hand, _that_ was overkill.


	6. An Epilogue in England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale say their goodbyes and head back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's POV

When Crowley came back to the Dowling’s home, she looked so pleased with herself that for a moment Aziraphale panicked that perhaps she had actually ended up killing someone. He immediately began interrogating her over what had happened during the meeting with the principal.

“What? What meeting?” Crowley asked in confusion, seemingly forgetting the very reason she had gone to the school in the first place. This worried him further but a moment later it came back to her and she waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, yes that, that went fine, but more importantly,” Her face lit up with excitement. “Warlock stood up to his bullies all on his own,”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. She nodded proudly.

“We had a talk about confidence and I told him he had to act like they couldn’t get to him,” She explained. “Then, as we were walking out, they tried to make fun of him, he took my advice, and it worked like charm!” She trilled happily, clasping her hands in front of her. Aziraphale couldn’t remember the last time she was this giddy, he thought it must have been right after the invention of the automobile. “I guarantee those boys won’t be bothering him anymore,”

Aziraphale tried to get her to elaborate on just how she could be so certain, but she evaded his questions of specifics until eventually he gave up. She had, at the very least, promised that no permanent bodily harm had been inflicted, and the angel decided that was enough for him.

The two of them waited to make their exit from the Dowling state until after Warlock had gotten home from school. He begged them to stay longer but Aziraphale insisted they really had to go and see Brother Francis’s ‘sister’ now. Crowley had looked like she wanted to stay longer as well; but the angel could tell that the adults in the household were growing tired of their unexpected guests, and he didn’t want to further impose. They waited in the yard for their taxi. Warlock stood next to Crowley, leaning against his side and looking slightly deflated, while his parents stood back and watched from a distance.

“I’m going to miss you,” Warlock mumbled sadly. Crowley patted his shoulder comfortingly and looked down at him.

“I’m going to miss you to, Warlock,” She said earnestly. “But you made me very proud today,” She added with a smile. “You showed me the terrifying little tyrant I knew I raised,”

A small hint of a smile appeared on his face at that and he gave a bit of a laugh. Then he seemed to turn introspective. After a moment of silence, he asked “Nanny? You do love me, right? What I said at school, was true, right?”.

She seemed stunned by that, as if she was shocked he even needed to ask. But, Aziraphale thought, to be fair, he wasn’t sure she had ever actually told Warlock that. “Of… Of course I do,” She said after a moment. “Like you were my own blood,” Warlock smiled warmly at that and threw his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly. Still looking a bit stunned, she hugged him back. Her face softened after a moment and she squeezed him. 

The cab pulled up and they broke apart. Just as he had when they left the Dowling estate last time, Aziraphale swore he heard her sniffle. She walked away to go put their bags in the trunk and Warlock turned to the angel.

“Goodbye Brother Francis,” Warlock sighed, though he was still smiling. The two of them hugged and when Aziraphale pulled away he reached in his pocket and handed Warlock a small piece of paper.

“Now I was thinking, Master Warlock,” He started, leaning down to talk to him as though he was sharing a secret. “My friend has a godson around your age, he’s from Tadfield, nearby where you used to live, and I’m a little surprised your paths haven’t crossed yet,” He explained. “He reminds me a lot of you, you’re both very bright young men,” Warlock laughed and Aziraphale ruffled his hair. “Don’t you laugh! I mean that! Well, anyways, that’s his address. I thought you might like to write him a letter too. I’m sure the two of you could be good friends,” Aziraphale new that the teenager was probably reluctant to have his friends made for him, but he still felt bad that Warlock didn’t have anyone his own age to talk to. “If you do write him, make sure and tell him you know a friend of Aziraphale, I know it’s hard to spell so I wrote it down on that there paper I handed you,”

Warlock looked at the folded sheet of paper skeptically but then he shrugged and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks,” He said with a laugh, Aziraphale smiled. They said their final goodbyes and the angel and the demon got into the back of the cab. They watched as Warlock waved at them from the gate. Crowley lifted one gloved hand to gently wave back out of the window.

***

A few weeks later Crowley walked through the door of Aziraphale’s shop, back to her more modern and chic style of clothes, though he noted she was still presenting as a woman for the time being. She walked up to him and handed him an envelope. “Another letter from Warlock?” He asked curiously, hoping it was good news.

“Yep,” She replied with a bit of a smile, a good sign. “It’s addressed to the both of us this time,” She chuckled. Aziraphale grinned as he read.

_Dear Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis,_

_I already miss you so much!_

_School is going a lot better. No one picks on me anymore. Or if they try, I put them back in their place. And I’ve even finally managed to make a few friends! A girl heard me telling off one of Steve’s gang of idiots and told me I should join the debate team. Her name is Christa and she’s the captain, she says she likes the way I scare the other teams. She also likes my sunglasses. I’ve started wearing sunglasses now, I think they make me look mysterious. Christa says they make me look goth, which I think is a good thing._

_Also, I wrote a letter to Adam, like Brother Francis suggested, and he’s really cool! We play videogames together online and he’s insanely good at them. Our Overwatch team always dominates every time we play. He thinks it’s amazing that I live in America. He thinks everything in America is more exciting, the way it is in movies. I told him it’s not that great but he won’t believe me. He doesn’t understand why I miss England, but we’re still friends._

_Can I come visit you some time? I asked my parents and they said they’d ask you but I know they’ll forget about it, so if the answer is yes, you HAVE to call them. They say we’re going to spend Christmas break in England this year, but I want to come visit earlier. Maybe Adam could come too? You two should ask your friend Aziraphale if it’s ok. Either way, I’ll be happy if I just get to see you guys._

_Please write back soon!_

_Sincerely,_

_Warlock_

**Author's Note:**

> Warlock doesn't get enough fandom attention and I'm here to change that


End file.
